


Delivered

by helem



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M, Phone Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helem/pseuds/helem
Summary: Transpacific communication can leave everyone a little... anxious.





	1. Chapter 1

“What did I do to warrant a phone call on any day other than my birthday, Duchovny?”

He can hear her grin through the cutting words and it fills him with relief that she answered at all. He’d done his best to time it so that the kids would be in bed but she’d still be up, even if it meant putting off his evening workout. “What? Old friends can’t call each other every so often?”

“Old friends,” she scoffs. “What ever happened to emailing a few times a year? Either you’re dying or insane.”

He can almost hear her arch her eyebrow. “I’ll plea the latter. Anyway, is missing you a good enough excuse?”

She pauses, figuring out if he’s teasing her. She opts for nonchalance. “Maybe. It depends on how much.”

“A transpacific phonecall’s worth, including time zone navigation. This involved almost 5 minutes of preplanning and Google research, Anderson.”

“Ah, well then you must be practically pining.”

He howls doglike into the receiver and she giggles coquettishly.

“So, how are things in the home of the brave?” she asks, settling onto her bed and plumping the pillows behind her so she can lean back against the headboard.

“Gone to shit, really. I’m unemployed, my daughter is leaving any day for college, and we have a carrot ready to take over the presidency. I’d rather not talk about it, in fact. How’re things under Her Majesty’s reign?”

“Do you mean Liz or me?”

“You, of course,” he chuckles.

“Oh, you know,” she gestured vaguely with her hand, even though he can’t see her. “Ordered chaos as usual.”

He hums in agreement. “It does seem that you don’t leave much time in your schedule for mortal things like, I dunno, eating and sleeping? You’re a whirlwind. Although a rather admirable and majestic one.”

She smiles. “Thank you. What are you up to?”

“I just told you…”

“No, I mean right now. Where are you? I want to picture it.”

She closes her eyes and allows his voice to wash over her, soothing her with its distinctive gravelliness.

“Well, I’m in my apartment.” “New York or LA?” “New York. I’m sitting on the sofa and it’s just past 4pm so the sun’s starting to go down behind me.”

She sighs into the receiver, strangely relaxed by the image he’s created for her. “What are you wearing?”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She smiles. “Seriously. I want the full picture.”

“Oh, you know… Jeans and a navy sweater. Bare feet.”

“I miss those feet.”

He laughs awkwardly.

“I do! I miss them stepping on me whenever we had to dance. I miss them catching on my dress when we did red carpets together.”

“You’re cute,” he says before thinking. “Your turn.”

“Mm?”

“Your turn to give me a full picture.”

“Oh.” She opens her eyes again, bringing herself back to the present.”I’m sitting on my bed. Not on the edge, I’m stretched out. I’m leaning against the headboard and my legs are in front of me.”

“And…?” he prompts, feeling kind of voyeuristic having her describe herself to him. It’s turning him on slightly but doesn’t want to think too much about it.

“I’m in leggings. Plain black. And a light pink hoodie. My hair’s damp because I showered after I got home this evening. Bare face. Oh, and grey fuzzy socks.”

“The ones you wore on your hands in Vancouver that one time because you didn’t have gloves?”

“Yup.”

“Hot.” She laughs and he can’t help but smile in response.

“Wait!’” He exclaims suddenly, bolting to sit up straight in his eagerness.

“What? What is it?”

“Do you have your belly piercing in?”

“What?” she laughs. “Why?”

“Do you have it in?” he asks again, urgently.

“No. I don’t wear it all that often.”

“Damn,” he sighs, slumping back into the cushions.

She plays with a loose thread on the comforter next to her. “Disappointed?”

“Yeah, a little. It’s sexy as hell.”

Her eyes widen a moment and she stops fidgeting, trying to glean whether or not he’s being serious. She goes for jocular. “You coming on to me, Duchovny?”

“Nah, just your piercing.”

They fall into comfortable silence for a moment before they both start speaking at the same time.

“Well, I should-“ “What about-?” “Sorry!” “Sorry?” “No, you go!” “You first!”

“I should, um… Well, it’s late,” she starts.

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though the sun hasn’t even set yet in New York.

“It was great to catch up.”

“Thanks for the call.”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“Goodnight, David,” she says softly.

It reminds him of quiet dinners and, occasionally, falling sleep next to her. “Goodnight, Gill.”

She misses him again as soon as she taps the red button.

* * *

It almost doesn’t surprise her when her phone buzzes again at the same time the following night and “DD” heads the screen.

She answers with a flip of her hair and a cocky, “Two nights in a row?” even though she’s already closing her bedroom door and settling down on the bed, smile on full dial.

“I’ve never been much good at playing it cool.”

“You don’t say, Mr. I-Think-I’ll-Marry-Her-After-Eight-Weeks.”

“I can practically hear your eyebrow raising, Anderson. I wonder what one of your many husbands would say?”

“There were only two and they’d probably have learned from experience to keep their mouths shut.”

He laughs at her wryness and she almost wishes he’d called on the landline so that she could twist the phone cord around her fingers like a teenager awaiting a prom proposal.

“Well?” he prompts.

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me to paint you a mental picture?”

She pauses for a moment, cheeks tinged pink and a naughty close lipped smile playing on her mouth. “Go ahead.”

“I took a leaf out of your book. I’m on my bed tonight. Legs stretched out in front. I’m wearing dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt. It’s not as cold today.”

Her fingertips trail over her lips absentmindedly as he speaks. “Barefoot?”

“Yeah. Socks are constricting.”

She laughs. “I’d love to hear the intellectual reasoning behind that.”

“Another time. Get painting, Anderson.”

“Bossy.”

“We all know you wear the pants.”

She takes a deep breath to gather herself before she begins. “I’m on my bed again. It’s also warmer here, but it’s because I have the heating on tonight. I was just contemplating having a bath when you called so I’m in my robe.”

He swallows thickly and hopes she doesn’t hear. She trails her fingers down the arch of her neck.

“Underneath I’m wearing a grey long sleeved top.” She wonders if her voice is as breathy as it feels and trails her fingers along the v of the silk robe.

He lifts up a prayer of relief that she isn’t naked. There may also be a slight note of disappointment.

“I already took my jeans off.”

He waits, sensing that it’s not the end.

“And…” she starts, losing her confidence partway and then finding it again. “And I have my piercing in.”

He manages to find his voice, albeit slightly choked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you put it in after last night?”

“Yeah. This morning.”

He decides to go for the question forcing its way through his lips. “Did you think of me when you did it?”

She pauses, biting her lip, and closes her eyes out of part embarrassment, part arousal. “Yes. I did.”

His doorbell rings and he knows it’s the salad he ordered before he called. He realises they’ve been on the line almost 30 minutes already. “I’ve, um, I’ve gotta go,” he stammers.

“Oh?” She can’t mask the disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah, there’s someone at the door. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s alright.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward silence and the doorbell goes again.

“Um, goodnight,” he whispers finally.

“Goodnight, David.”

The line goes dead and he mentally kicks himself as he gets off the bed to go answer the door.

* * *

It’s a couple of hours later and he’s realises that his guilt and disappointment aren’t abating. Every time he picks up his phone to call her back he chickens out, telling himself it’s over, she’s probably asleep anyway. By 10pm he realises that he won’t fall asleep unless he does something. He decides to text her.

_I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t want to stop talking to you._

To his surprise, the ticks turn blue almost immediately. Seems he’s not the only one struggling to sleep. He waits while she types a response.

_It’s okay. I didn’t want to stop either._

It’s good. This is good. She’s responding.

_Did you have your bath?_

She smiles as she types back. _I did_.

_I assume the outfit’s changed then…?_

_You assume right._

She waits as he types then stops then types again. It seems he’s debating with himself. Eventually his reply comes through. _Send a picture?_

She considers the implications of what a man means when he asks a woman to send him a picture of what she’s wearing… but not for long. This is _David_. It doesn’t count. Does it? She reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow on her bedroom, and wiggles herself into a seated position. Turning the camera onto selfie mode, she quickly runs her fingers through her hair. One of the spaghetti straps of her nightgown has slipped off her shoulder. She reaches to readjust it, then stops and leaves it as it is.

He waits patiently. She’s read his message and either she’s getting ready to meet his request, or has decided to ignore it. He’s having trouble convincing himself it’s not the latter. And then a picture comes through and he draws in a breath. She’s taken it from above. She sits in bed with knees bent and resting to the side in a silky champagne nightgown that falls to mid thigh. From what he can make out, her toenails are painted baby pink and this inexplicably gives him a semi. Her hair is tousled, but not a mess and on strap has slipped off. He wonders if this was intentional or not. From the bird’s eye, he has a fair view of cleavage, which does little to aid his problem at ground zero. Then there’s her face, tilted up to the camera, eyes blue and shining in the lamplight, cheeks bare and rosy, plump bottom lip caught between her teeth. He almost wants to call her immediately but realises that would be odd, even for him.

Instead, he goes for understated awe. _Obviously you’ve been holding out on your verbal descriptions_.

She smiles. and then chides herself for feeling accomplished by his approval.

 _Come on then, DD. Tit for tat_.

 _More like tit for tit based on that picture. Okay, gimme a sec. You’ve raised the bar real high_.

She settles back beneath the covers as she waits, ignoring the butterflies that have taken up residence in her abdomen. When it comes, she’s glad for her boldness. He’s sitting up, hair sticking up at the back and a sleepy smile on his face. He looks like a younger, happier version of himself, only compounded by his bare chest. She can tell he’s been working out, even though he says he only commits himself to boxing and yoga. She yearns to run her fingers through the slight spattering of hair on his pecs and run her tongue over the rippled texture of his nipples as she did a few times long, long ago. His skin is golden brown against the white of the bed covers and she suddenly wants more than anything to be wrapped up in his warmth, to smell him, to feel the firmness of his body against the softness of her own. It’s been 20 years but kissing him feels like yesterday.

_Well?_

His message jolts her from her reverie, and not soon enough. Luckily, it seems her brain hasn’t quite turned to mush.

 _I’m not the only one who’s been holding out_.

_I’ll take that._

_It’s true._

He smiles and is grateful he decided against throwing a t-shirt on for modesty’s sake. He works out that it’s almost 3:30am for her.

_You should get some sleep, Gillybean._

_Yeah. I’ll dream of you._

_It’s a date._

She sends a few x’s before he locks his phone and throws it on the bedside cabinet. He’s about to drift off when he reaches for it again, taking one last look at her picture. Fuck playing it cool. He can just about wait until tomorrow’s phonecall.

Across the Pacific in her now darkened bedroom, nor can she.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I suck. But I hope you enjoy it. Thank god for Amy Elouise getting my ass into gear.

This is how it starts. They talk every evening, sometimes via text if they’re busy, but mostly by phonecall. On Christmas Eve, she sends him a selfie with Nelson, both of them with Christmas hats on. He sends a picture of his vegan Christmas food prep in response. Sometimes they flirt with the boundary between friends and not-just-friends, as they naturally do, but nothing as bold as the pictures sent from their beds in the middle of the night. He would say he’s disappointed, but the rush of joy he gets from hearing her voice on a regular basis is enough to dispel any disappointment almost immediately.

 

It’s the day after Christmas and she’s already craving their phonecall. The day before, they’d only exchanged brief well-wishes amid the flurry of family and food. It wasn’t enough to scratch what she’s come to recognise as her newly recurrent David itch and she looks forward to a quiet house this evening (the boys have gone to their father) with a glass of wine and his gravelly voice. It comes as a surprise then when her phone trills shortly after 2pm.

 

“You’re early,” she says firmly, barely highlighting the thrill that is flooding through her limbs.

 

“I know, I know, but I couldn’t wait. I’ve made a discovery and I needed to tell you immediately.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do tell.” She settles on the couch in front of the fireplace.

 

“Well, I don’t quite know how to word this, but… So you know I have that habit of going on YouTube once in a while to watch those fan made Mulder and Scully love videos with the sad cheesy background music?”

 

“I am aware, yes.”

 

“I kind of took it a step further. Actually, technically the fans did. I just happened to stumble upon it.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“And it turns out that people write all kinds of stories about Mulder and Scully. About what their lives would’ve been like if they hadn’t lost William. What they do after the series ends. But also a whole lot about them… well… doing the horizontal mambo.”

 

She laughs loudly. “Well that shouldn’t come as any surprise! We’ve seen how they salivate at panels whenever anything romantic comes up. I keep telling Chris to give them something a little raunchy on screen to get their rocks off to but he takes the show much too seriously for that and-“

 

“Shhhhhhhhh!” He cuts her off before she can launch into a full a rant. “There’s more.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Ohhhh, yeah.” He takes a deep breath before making the big reveal. “Not only are there _very_ raunchy stories about Mulder and Scully. There are stories written about us.” He pauses for dramatic effect.

 

“What do you mean… us?”

 

“Just that. People have taken the time to sit down and write fictional stories about us together as a couple. Sometime’s we’re having an illicit affair. Sometimes we do the whole get married and have a baby thing. But the common thread is sex. And lots of it. Like, lots.”

 

Her mouth gapes for a bit as she tries to process what he’s telling her. Eventually her brain realises that it is capable human speech. “Woah. Woah woah woah. Hold up.” She takes a deep breath and speaks slowly and carefully. “Are you saying that there are stories on the internet written by fans about us… fucking?”

 

“Yes. In explicit detail.”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” She covers her face with her free hand even though there’s no one around to see her. Suddenly the penny drops. “Wait!” she gasps. “ _You read these stories?”_

 

“Naturally. I had to know if fictional me was as much of a stud as real me. He is, by the way.”

 

“Oh my god!”

 

“Hey, fictional you also sounds like a pretty good lay. Except maybe the one where you were into 50 Shades of Grey type shit. I wasn’t so keen on that. But the rest…”

 

“How many of these did you read?!”

 

“Uuuuuum… A few?”

 

“David!” She wants to melt into the floor. This is completely surreal. He’s silent on the other end for a couple of minutes.

 

“Are you mad?” he asks quietly.

 

“No,” she answers truthfully. “I guess this is just another one of those things that happens when you’re someone with a name in the age of the internet.”

 

“Yeah. Personally, I’m more flattered than appalled. A lot of these posts were pretty recent which means we’re still something to talk about. Plus, people think we’re hot.”

 

She manages a small laugh. He always knew just how to diffuse tension. She sighs into the receiver. “Thanks for the call, I guess. Albeit one of the most bizarre ones of my life.”

 

“Don’t mention it. I love rendering you speechless.”

 

“Until tomorrow?”

 

“Until tomorrow.”

 

“Bye, David.”

 

“Goodbye, lover.”

 

He hears her groan loudly before disconnecting and chuckles to himself as he hangs up.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

He’s the one surprised when his phone rings again late that afternoon and her name lights up the screen. He swipes to answer. “Twice in one day?”

 

“Yeah, shut up. I’ve drunk most of a bottle of pinot grigio and my judgement is slightly impaired. Where are you?”

 

“Um, at home? Why?”

 

He hears her take a deep breath. “Read me one.”

 

“Huh?” What the fuck is she talking about?

 

“David.” He forgot how short tempered drunk Gillian can be. “Read me one of those porn stories. I tried to look them up but all I could find were US weekly articles when I searched for ‘David Duchovny Gillian Anderson Stories.’”

 

He smiles. “First of all, they are not ‘porn stories.’ These are written by professional writers with names like GillianIsBae999 and Gillovny4Ever.”

 

“Gillovny Forever?”

 

“No, 4ever. Like, with the number.”

 

“What’s a Gillovny?”

 

“It’s our couple name. Like Brangelina and Bennifer. Get with the program. And stop interrupting.”

 

“Sorry.” Alcohol also made her a cute as fuck.

 

“Secondly, you wouldn’t have found them because they’re called fanfiction.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Fanfiction. I.e. Fiction written by fans.”

 

“Oh. Right. I get it.” Cute as fuck.

 

“So you want to hear one?”

 

“Hit me, baby.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that was a line in the 50 Shades one. Want to hear it?”

 

“God, no.”

 

“Okay, hang on. Let me find one that’s not going to send you screaming for the hills.”

 

He grabbed his iPad off the bedside table and started scrolling though his browser history.

 

“Ooh, here’s a nice, normal one. Are you comfortable?”

 

She wriggled down into the pillows behind her. “Very.”

 

“It’s called ‘London A.X.’ I think that’s a play on the Hollywood A.D. episode.”

 

“Are you going to give running commentary throughout or…?”

 

“Okay, okay. It starts with text messages so just bear with me.

_Can I call? DD_

_Just driving back from a press event. Almost at my hotel. GA_

_Is that a yes..? DD_

_It’s a gimme 10 ;) GA_

_You there yet? DD_

_Just got off the elevator. Walking to my room. GA_

_Okay. I’ll dial in a sec. DD_

_She picked up on the second ring. “Mulder, it’s me...”_

 

She closed her eyes and was soon lulled into the story by his gravelly voice. She sipped her wine and pictured him coming to visit her in London. Soon she was picturing him groping her on the very couch where she was currently sitting and it sent a flush to her cheeks that wasn’t necessarily alcohol induced.

 

“ _She scooted up so that her head was poised above his, a hand resting on the hot skin of his chest, her hair hanging around them forming a cocoon. She brushed her lips against his, but he immediately placed a hand on the back of her head, pulling her down into a proper kiss. Foregoing all attempts at modesty, she plunged her tongue into his mouth and was rewarded with a groan as his hand skated down her shoulder blade and spine to grab her ass through her nightgown. She rolled onto her back, bringing him with her and opened her legs so that he could nestle his pelvis against hers. The weight of him upon her was delicious, but the feel of his hardness pressed against her was exquisite. He began a slow rhythm of gentle thrusts against her, making her moan into his mouth each time he hit the right spot. He pulled up onto his knees and she followed him by sitting up. As one, they pulled her nightgown over her head, baring her body to the cool air. They fell back onto the bed as he tried to get both of her nipples into his mouth at once while pulling her underwear off. She gasped as he bit and licked and sucked at her. Her mind had gone blank with arousal, just as it had the day before when he’d kissed her for the first time. She reached down and began tugging at the waistband of his boxers. He got the message and quickly slid them down and off. Incoherent thoughts ran rampant across her mind._

 

_David. Me. Naked. Hot. Sex. Fuck. Now._

 

_He ran two fingers down into her pussy to feel if she was ready. “Jesus, Gilly, you’re soaking, baby.” She could only whimper in response, reaching a hand down to grab his cock._

 

_“David, please. I need you to fuck me.””_

 

Suddenly he stopped and it jarred her out of the fantasy presented to her by a stranger. She could hear him breathing through the receiver but was hesitant to break the silence.

 

“Um, is everything okay?” she asked softly.

 

He paused before replying, licking his lips to gather himself. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just…” He rolled his head back against the headboard. “To say it delicately, reading this is making things a little… hard for me.”

 

She arched an eyebrow. “Hard?”

 

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

 

“It was just getting to the good part.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

They both laughed softly. “If it’s any consolation, it’s having a similar, um… _effect_ on this side, too.”

 

“That’s great consolation. Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. So… Do you want to keep going, or…?”

 

“Sure. Do you?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She took another sip of wine but kept her eyes open and her mind focussed as he picked up again.

 

_“He took over from her hand, guiding himself to her opening, then slowly, slowly, slid into her. She hissed and he stopped. “You okay?” Concern knotted his brow and ordinarily she’d find this endearing, but in her wild state it only drove her crazy._

 

_“Yes. God, yes. Keep going, don’t fucking stop.” She sounded desperate, even to herself, but she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the feeling of (finally!) having him inside, the feeling of his cock in her cunt. He was all the way in and he had to focus on not coming immediately, something he hadn’t had to do since college._

 

_“Jesus, Gilly, you’re so tight. So fucking hot.” He started to move, shallow little thrusts as he found a rhythm. “Ah, oh god, you feel so fucking good, baby.”_

 

She trailed her fingers up her neck, catching her earlobe between the tips, then ran her index finger lightly across her bottom lip.

 

“ _He was soon giving long, deep thrusts into her, rendering her incoherent as whimpers and moans escaped her each time he entered. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel every single inch of his skin against her own, to memorise this moment of total unity after so many years of being separate entities bound only by contract and a personal relationship that was flimsy at best. Unable to communicate the gravity of what she was feeling with words as he fucked her, she brought both hands to cup his face, pulling his head down so that his eyes could bore into hers. Their pants filled the space between them as the intensity of their gaze almost overwhelmed that of the action beneath the covers._

_Recovering her voice, she whispered, “David,” which made him groan, and he pulled back onto his knees, grabbing her hips and began pounding into her hard and fast.”_

 

Her breath hitched and he caught it, but carried on. If he stopped reading the words before him, he would have to starting using his own words, which would be very dangerous territory.

_“She cried out at the sensation of him fucking her in earnest and she grabbed her own breasts, cupping them, pinching nipples, the sight of David, her co-star, her best friend, now her lover, above her.”_

 

She couldn’t help it. Using her free hand, she cupped her breast, giving it a firm squeeze before delicately pinching her nipple. Her mouth hung open in a silent groan, desperately trying to stay quiet.

_“It was the most erotic moment of her life. She shut her eyes and focussed on the force of his thrusts. Then he was touching her, rubbing a finger back and forth on her clit and she was coming on him, around him, crying out as every muscle tensed and then falling back as they released and she melted into the bed._

 

_Before she could catch her breath, he had pulled out, still hard, still unsated, and flipped her over onto her stomach. He grabbed her hips and jerked them up before entering her from behind. Once her brain recovered and she realised what was happening, she placed her weight forward onto her forearms beneath her, arching her back into his pelvis. He groaned, the sound of slapping skin and flesh sounding loudly behind her._

 

_“Fuck. Oh, fuck, baby. Oh, Gilly, you’re so sweet. You’re so good, baby. So fucking good.”_

 

Unable to take the pressure, she quickly unbuttoned her jeans and slid her hand inside. A few years of being a single mother with not much time to herself had taught her how to make herself come quickly and quietly, and she immediately began rubbing little circles around her clit, occasionally dipping inside for extra lubrication. Judging by the substantial amount of arousal she could feel on her underwear, she knew this wouldn’t take long.

 

_She bit the pillow below her to prevent her own cries from escaping. She could feel her second orgasm approaching and she reached a hand down to rub her own clit._

David could hear her breathing changing, becoming heavier and faster, and he could barely bring himself to think about what she was doing to herself on the other end without making it very obvious that he was on the verge of doing the same. Without changing the cadence of his voice, he slipped his hands inside his boxers, drawing his now fully erect penis out, and immediately began shuttling his hand up and down his shaft in long hard strokes.

_“Yes, baby, touch yourself. Just like that. Make yourself come.”_

It felt like he was speaking directly to her, and every syllable went straight to her clit as her body grew taught, sensing that release was close at hand.

_And she did. Not as violently as before, but just as good. Then, impossibly, he was pounding harder and faster, chasing his own release and she knew she should help him along._

_“I love how you fuck me, David. Jesus, you feel so good. You make me feel so good. Let me make you feel good. I want you to come for me. I want you to come inside me, baby.”_

That did it. She shoved three fingers inside of herself and clenched her jaw as she felt the contractions working heat into every limb, small breathy gasps of, “Ah, ah, ah” spilling out of her uncontrollably, until she fell limp and breathless against the cushions.

_Then adopting her best Special Agent Dana Scully voice she husked, “Come for me, David. Come now.”_

 

He had to stop, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he spurted semen across his hand and into his lap, the sound of her breathing just loud enough in his ear to be heard over the roar of blood in his head. Taking a second to recover, he ended the story.

_And then he was groaning and pouring into her hot and rich and musky as his hips carried on pulsing, now staccato and out of rhythm, but still glorious, because this was_ _David_ _._

_Finally, he pulled out, collapsing on his back next to her as they both struggled to catch their breath. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her palm. She smiled then, naked next to him, equally naked, both sweaty and smelling of sex, and she realised she’d never been happier. Yes. Maybe this could work.”_

 

His voiced died away as he tried to settle his breathing. She was almost completely silent on the other end. Did she know what he had been doing? She must have.

 

She cleared he throat. “Uhh.. wow.”

 

“Yeah,” he chuffed in relief. At least she was talking.

 

“Is that it?”

 

“Yeah. Well, no. There are a few more chapters.”

 

“These things have chapters?”

 

“I told you. They’re very professional.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

They both hummed in agreement.

 

“It’s quite late,” she observed.

 

“Yes. For you at least. You should go. I mean, if you want to, that is.”

 

She smiled. “I never _want_ to. But I guess I should.”

 

“Same time tomorrow?”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“Goodnight, Gill.”

 

“Goodnight, Double D.”


	3. Chapter 3

She had worried that things would be awkward between them after that night, but it soon vanishes when he calls her the next evening. And the one after that. And the one after that. She loves being back in this weird, little routine, and sometimes she finds herself counting down the hours until she can hear his voice, even if only for a few minutes, even if they aren’t really saying anything of importance. Sometimes, maybe once every two weeks, one of them plucks up the courage and suggests they read another chapter of the story they had started. Gillian finds it easier to distance herself from the version of herself in the story, simply listening to the plot unfold as though she were merely a bystander, but at some moments she finds it extraordinarily difficult to not imagine David making love to her, David sharing a house with her, David- No. She must not think this way. It's dangerous and ridiculous. Yet somehow, time and again, she finds herself alone in bed in the middle of the night, snaking a hand into her underwear, his face on her mind as she becomes breathless and his name on her lips when she comes.

* * *

 

_“What if I’m fine but the baby isn’t?” she asked softly. It struck him to the bone to see her looking and sounding so fragile, a shell of the fireball she usually was. He sighed._

_“Let’s wait and see what the doctor says, honey.” He squeezed her fingers and hoped like hell that her question wouldn’t ever have to be answered_.

“And that’s it. It just ends,” he says, finishing his narration.

“What? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You’re sure you didn’t lose some pages or something?” she asks, starting to panic.

“Well, it’s a website, not a manuscript, so no. Are you actually getting upset about this?”

“Yes! We’ll never know what happens to our baby!” She’s starting to shriek and he has to suppress a smirk.

“Calm down, prima donna. It’s just a story. Plus, the writer simply says it’s on extended hiatus, so maybe one day it will be finished.”

“But that could be months! If at all! Ugggghhh!” She groans, slumping into the cushions behind her.

He imagines her with a cute little pout on her lips and would give just about anything to kiss it away. He sighs. “Whatcha gonna do?”

“We could finish it ourselves.” She says it without thinking but decides that it’s as good an idea as any.

“Huh?”

“Better yet, we could come up with our own.”

He gulps. “You want to write fanfiction about us?” He swears his voice probably sounds higher to him than it does in reality, but he clears his throat to be safe.

She chuckles. “Of course not. But we could come up with a story together. We’d keep it between us.”

He laughs along, metaphorically wiping the sweat off his brow. “Uuum, okay?”

“I’ll start if you’re going to be a pussy about it. Let’s think. Oh! I know! What about that night you were my date to the Globes?”

“Yeeees…” He’s still uncertain about what role he’s supposed to be playing in this. Co-narrator? Spectator? Character? After 25 years, sometimes she’s still an enigma to him.

“I remember when I hopped in the limo with you, you looked so dapper. I thought that may be the night.”

“The night?”

“The night something happened between us. I don’t know. I was young and still had a very naïve notion about romance. Not to mention, recently heartbroken. You held my hand and I swear to god, it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I just remember looking at you a few times that night and wondering if we’d ever be anything more. I think that was the first time that I’d ever really considered it a possibility.”

He smiles, remembering moments from the carpet. “I looked at you, too. You were wearing that dress that was almost see-through. You were so radiant, smiling through all the pain and bullshit I know you’d been dealing with that day. There was one point when we were speaking to a reporter and I glanced at you and you were just looking up at me with those big, blue eyes and I fucking swear, Gillian, I could have kissed you right there; planted a big one on you without giving a fuck about our peers and the press all watching.”

She feels a little dizzy. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him speak so honestly. They had a few trysts. She knows what it feels like to have him inside her. But they were fuelled by rage during the darkest part of their relationship. She’d thought things had been leading towards romance and then, out of the blue, he’d been dating someone, and in five minutes had married her. It was the breaking point. She’d scream at him and hit him and then fuck him until her knees were raw. He’d go home to his wife in Beverly Hills, and she’d go home and drink her feelings. It only happened a few times, but it was never the perfect slow-dance-on-the-beach-then-make-love-all-night romance she knew they both deserved. They never got around to the latter. Therapy and children and divorces and different countries always made the timing a little off. But the night of the Globes was the beginning of her original hope for what they could have been, before rushed marriages and quickies in dark trailers.

“What if we had that?” she breathes.

“You want me to tell you what I would’ve done that night?”

“Tell me, David.”

He takes a deep breath. “I would’ve said, ‘Fuck the carpet. Fuck the show.’ The moment I saw you in that dress with red rimmed eyes, I would’ve told the driver to take us to the closest liquor store. I would’ve gotten us a bottle of the best champagne, and then I would’ve taken you to the beach. I would’ve let you talk and talk and I would’ve just listened and held you if you cried even though it breaks my heart to see you like that.”

“I don’t want to be crying in our fantasy.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be sitting on the beach with you, both dressed to the nines, a bit buzzed from too much champagne on an empty stomach. We notice the sun starting to set and I lean my head on your shoulder. You wrap your arm around mine. I feel you kiss the top of my head and it says more than words could ever say. I look up and you’re looking at me so intensely, that way you do, and the orange sunlight is reflecting off your eyes, searing into my heart.”

“I would’ve kissed you. I should’ve fucking kissed you.”

“Kiss me now, David.”

“I am. My lips are on yours. My hands are in your hair. You smell fucking incredible. And you’re soft, just so fucking soft everywhere.”

“David,” she gasps.

"What do I do next, Gillian? Tell me what I do next."

"Your tongue. I can feel your tongue in my mouth. One of your hands is rubbing circles on my back and your, uh, your touch is making me feel hot all over."

He groans silently, feeling his arousal spike. "You taste so good. I want to touch you everywhere."

"Oh god," she murmurs. 

"We aren't in the beach anymore. I'm right next to you, right now. I'm on your bed with you. Describe it to me."

"I... Uh..."

"Close your eyes." His voice is soothing and she complies. "It's just me; just us. Describe us."

"We're on my bed, and we're kissing. I can't breathe, but your mouth feels so good that every time I leave it to catch my breath, I go back almost immediately. I can't help it."

"Are we lying down?"

"Yeah. You're lying next to me; over me. I can feel your erection pressed against my thigh and it makes me so wet."

"Fuck. I'm so hard right now listening to this. I want to touch you. I need to feel your skin."

"I'm taking my top off." She sits up, quickly pulling her sweater up and over her head before discarding it to the foot of the bed. She gently settles herself back against the pillows, eyes still closed. "I'm not wearing a bra," she whispers. 

"Christ. Okay. Im running my fingertips over your stomach. I can feel your muscles quivering beneath them. I'm still kissing you, but gently. Less frantic. Just pecking at those beautiful, soft lips."

She trails her own fingertips over her stomach, feeling the muscles jump in anticipation, following the actions he describes with that gravelly voice. She's so caught up, she ca practically imagine it's his warm, calloused hand rather than her own dainty one. She dares not open her eyes for fear the fantasy will disintegrate around her. 

"I slowly reach the see all of your breasts. I press the flat of my hand between them. I can feel your heart thumping. You moan a little, always impatient." They both chuckle. "And I can never say no to you. So I slowly run a finger around your nipple."

"Yeah," she breathes, mimicking his fantasy-self's actions on her breast. "Gentle," she whispers. "So, so gentle." She's practically delirious from arousal and none of the properly exciting stuff has even happened yet. 

"Yeah, so gentle," he agrees. Hearing her voice tremble like that forces him to grab his cock through his jeans and give it a tight squeeze. "I pull back from your mouth. I have to taste you."

She whimpers, dipping two fingers into her mouth to lave them with her tongue.

"Your chest is flushed and you're watching me so intently. I lean down and softly run my tongue over your nipple."

"Oh," she sighs. "Do it again."

"I do. I do it again and again and again. I switch to the other side and the way you're moaningbis driving me insane. I can't wait to be inside you but I also can't bare to pull away from your sweet skin."

"I want more," she groans. "I want more of your mouth on me."

"I suck your nipple into my mouth and lightly graze my teeth over it. I glance up at you and you're so fucking beautiful."

"Yeah, suck on my tits. It feels so fucking good." She's rolling her nipples between her saliva-soaked fingers, knowing it can't compare to the feeling of his mouth on them. 

He groans loudly, freeing his erection as he pushes his tangled pants and underwear down his legs and tears his t-shirt off. "I need more though. Jesus, I need all of you. We're both naked and I'm between your legs. I'm going to taste you. Are you ready for me to taste you?"

"Nngh," she whimpers, quickly pulling her leggings and sodden thing off. 

He takes that as affirmation. "You're so wet and you smell so good."

She runs a finger up and down her slit, rebelling in the wetness his voice and her touch have created. 

"I run my tongue along your lips but you taste so good that I start lapping you up hard and fast with my tongue."

"Ah," she cried, immediately running a finger around her clit. 

"You taste so good, honey. Tell me what you taste like. Taste yourself for me." He's running a hand up and down his shaft desperately as he waits for her to reply. 

She brings a finger to her mouth, daintily slipping it between her lips to taste her own arousal, before bringing it back to where her clit is aching for its touch. "It's, um, salty. Like licking your lips at the beach. And sour like young cherries."

"Yeah," he moans. "Oh, fuck. I remember how you taste. I crave it."

"I loved it when you ate me out," she confesses breathlessly. "I need you inside me. Please fuck me. Please."

"Ahhh," he sighs, increasing the tempo of his hand. If he's no careful, he could go soaring over the eve any minute. "Fuck, I'm sliding into you. I have to be so gentle because you're so small. You're so fucking tight and your skin is so fucking soft. You're all around me, everywhere. It's so ducking good with us."

"So good," she agrees, sliding three fingers in at once to feel the burn he always gave her. "So fucking good. Jesus, I can feel you. I feel so full."

"I start pulling out and pushing back in. I try to be slow because you're so beautiful and I want this to last, but I can't stop. You're so hot around me. I'm thrusting faster and faster."

"Yeah." Her voice catches as her fingers start moving within her. "Fuck, I'm so close already."

"Me too," he admits. "Uh, I wanna come inside you."

His breathing and groans spur her on. For a few minutes they simple touch themselves, driven by each other's carnal sounds and the fantasy fueling their raging arousal. Gillian flattens her palm against her pubic bone, allowing the pressure to stimulate her clit. Her thighs are clenching shakily and she can feel how close she is to release. "Talk to me," she says, desperate for something to drive her over the edge. 

"I'm remembering how you felt around me. You'd fuck me and I'd be so pissed at you, hating your guts, but at the same time loving you so fiercely. No one has ever made me so hard so easily. It's like you're not even trying. For the past few years, whenever I touch myself, I can't help but think of you."

"David," she rasps, startled again by his honesty. 

"Fuck, Gilly, I'm gonna come. Shit, I'm coming, baby. Fuck."

His voice breaks off into a strangled moan, and that combined with the throaty way he called her "baby" ringing in her ears, throws her over the edge, into sparks of light behind her eyelids as every muscle in her body tenses and releases in waves. She feels like the ocean and like fire at the same time. She comes and comes and comes, his voice in her ear all the way through it, whispering encouragements. "Yeah, Gilly, just like that. Come for me. You feel so good. You're so fucking beautiful when you come." All the while she hears him calling her, "baby, baby, baby..."

after a small eternity, she slumps into the mattress. Her legs are trembling and she's too weak to do anything but gently slide her fingers out of herself. She's still panting and her throat burns from forgotten cries and moans. 

He listens to her breathing, quickly reaching for a tissue form the nightstand to wipe his hand and groin before discarding it. He's still for a moment. 

"Gillian?" he asks softly. 

"Yeah?" Her voice is hoarse. 

"That was amazing."

she smiles, licking her lips nervously. 

"Gillian?" He tries again. 

"Yes?"

"This doesn't have to change anything."

She's quiet. She knows that's bullshit and so does he. They've now indirectly acknowledged their unfinished business with each other and that changes everything. 

"Well," he says after a few beats. "Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight," she says softly. 

He doesn't want to hang up like this, but the line goes dead on her side. He throws his phone onto the other side of the bed like it's to blame and gets into a scorching showere where he scrubs himself raw. Eventually he gets into bed, even though it's much too early, and even though he knows already that he will not sleep. 

Mom the other side of the world, nor does she, and spends the night hugging herself, wondering how in a few minutes she went from feeling closer to him that ever, to feeling like they couldn't be further apart. 

 _Fuck him_ , she thinks, as the first rays of the sun light her bedroom. Fuck the stories. Fuck the phone calls. And fuck her irrational, reckless, rampant desire _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wouldn't exist without Amy Elouise and her holding me to deadlines that I watch fly by.


	4. Chapter 4

She's surprised when her phone begins buzzing that night and his name lights up the display. Hadn't she made it obvious enough that she was uncomfortable and didn't want it to continue? His words still ring in her head. "This doesn't have to change anything." Like hell it doesn't. Eventually the phone stops ringing and she breathes a sigh of relief that he doesn't call again.

The following evening he texts, "Can I call?"

The ticks turn blue on his end but she doesn't respond. Even so, her message is coming through loud and clear.  _Leave me alone._ He spends two hours projecting his frustration onto his punching bag until he's sweaty and exhausted. He showers and tries to jerk off to the picture she sent him from her bed months ago, but pleasure soon gives way to guilt and he gives up, falling into another fitful sleep.

* * *

 

A month. It's been a fucking month and she's only just been able to start telling herself that she's over it; that it never happened. Yet here she sits at a table read, staring down at her lap in disbelief where her phone has just lit up with his text.

_I miss you._

Everything she's tried to suppress, the feelings she's smothered with thoughts of  _I was just lonely_ and  _It was easy because we already have so much history_ are threatening to spill open inside of her and she can't let herself, absolutely will not allow herself to fall apart because of  _him._ Not now.

"Gillian?"

She vaguely registers where she is and that she's probably been zoned out for long enough to miss a line.

"Um, sorry everyone." She shakes her head a little, getting her bearings back, and glances at the expectant faces around her. "Where were we?"

Jeff chuckles. "Not to worry, Gillian. We're probably due for a break anyhow. See you all back here in 30 minutes?"

There's a mass scraping of chairs and she manages to avoid small talk about the script in favour of heading out for some fresh air. She decides to bite the bullet and scrolls down to his name in her contacts before pressing dial. He picks up after a single ring and the sound of his voice after such a long absence is almost her undoing. Almost.

"Hey."

"Hi."

There's an awkward pause. She feels it's only right for him to begin this since he initiated contact to begin with.

"You, uh, go my text?" He sounds nervous. He wasn't expecting her to reply, at least not so soon and not so directly.

"I did."

"Good. That's good. Um, I, uh. I miss you."

"So you said."

She should expect it when he snaps at her aloofness. "Cut the fucking cold bullshit, Gillian. I get it, okay? You think it was all a mistake and now you're going to play the ice queen until you think you can trust me to play along in the little game we've been playing for years. Well, guess what? I quit. I fucking quit! And I'll say the big scary thing that neither of us will admit. I want you. I want to be with you. You cannot honestly tell me that that night meant nothing to you. I felt it and I know you felt it too, and that scares you because we both know that we would be fucking amazing together, but you're too much of a fucking coward to give me a chance!"

She braces herself against his rampage, allowing her own rage to blossom in her chest, throwing through her veins like fire throughout her body. "A coward? Oh, that's rich. That's real fucking rich, David! I'm not the one who started something he didn't have the guts to end before moving on to someone else!"

"Are you kidding me?" His disbelief is evident. "Are you fucking kidding me? After everything we've been through, you're going to drag up that stale 20 year old grudge? Look, I'm sorry that I gave you the wrong impression! I'm fucking sorry that I fell in love with someone that's not you! News flash: Gillian Anderson is not the center of the fucking universe!"

"Oh, fuck you!" she practically screeches, thankful that she's a decent distance away from her colleagues. "You wanna talk about everything we've been through? You owed it to me to man up! And don't for a fucking second make it out to be all in my head. You told me yourself that you should've kissed me at the fucking Globes!"

"Oh, come on! Let me remind you of the context. A fanfiction! A fantasy!" He almost stops himself but the anger coursing through him forces the words out of his mouth. "If anything you should be grateful. From what I remember it was that little make-believe story that you got off to!"

She's practically seeing red. The fucking, selfish bastard. She never should have called him. Missed her? He better get used to it. Without another peep, she hangs up and quickly turns off her phone. It's about time she gets back to work anyway.

* * *

 

She somehow manages to keep it together enough to get through the rest of the read and then picking up the boys from school and doing the homework-supper-bath-bed routine. She finds herself going through the motions, refusing to allow their earlier conversation to invade her thoughts. It's only when she's sitting alone in the living room with a glass of wine that she decides to switch her phone back on. Between the various work-related emails and texts, she sees that he's left her a voice message. She takes a hearty swig of wine, then presses play.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that. I'm so sorry." His voice is soft, the fury it previously held almost unimaginable now. "You could never be just a fantasy. You're so much more than that. You're so real to me." He sighs. "I've booked a trip to London. No work arrangements. No meetings. I'll be there for one week, starting Tuesday." He gives her the address and room number of his hotel. "You know where I'll be."

She realises what she needs to do. The temptation will be too great alone, so come Tuesday, she needs to become the busiest woman in London. Without a second thought, she's ringing Archie to make dinner plans for Tuesday. The rest she'll figure out in the morning.

* * *

 

There's no word from him over the weekend. Despite her resolve, she replays his voice note a few times a day. Maybe he's bluffing? What if (and she  _won't,_ but  _what if_ ) she finds herself at his hotel only to find out that he's not there? And then she thinks about being in the same position and realising that he  _is_ there. She doesn't know which thought terrifies her more.

* * *

 

On Tuesday morning she jerks awake and immediately reaches for her phone. Nothing. 

By lunchtime, still nothing, and she reprimands herself for getting her hopes up.

She has dinner with Archie to look forward to and a week to herself while the boys are with their father. There is absolutely no reason to put her life on hold for-

_Ping!_

She makes a lunge for her phone. It's him. He's just sent an image of the Heathrow signage. Oh, god. Definitely not bluffing. This evening can't come soon enough.

* * *

 

"What's eating Gillian Anderson?" Archie nudges her and Gillian realises she's been staring into the depths of her martini for the better part of five minutes. 

"God, sorry, Arch. I think I'm just tired."

Archie simply raises an eyebrow. She knows tired Gillian and this is not tired Gillian. This is distracted Gillian. Archie voices as much.

She sighs. "Okay. I'll probably feel better taking about it anyway." She takes a sip of her drink. "So there's this guy-"

"Oh my god!" Archie interjects. "Are you seeing someone? How do I not know about this?"

Gillian chuckles. "If you'd let me finish I can tell you."

"Sorry," Archie says demurely and settles down to hear the rest.

"We're not seeing each other. We just sort of made contact recently."

Archie nods. Gillian decides there's no need to divulge who exactly she's taking about. Best to keep this simple.

"We have a history," she admits. "He got married and we called it off but stayed friends, although we don't keep in touch often. At least, we didn't. Then out of the blue a few months ago, he starts calling me. It was great to catch up. He's always been easy to talk to. So we traded calls and texts and then it started becoming... more. Some days I'd wake up looking forward to speaking to him. I think we always knew that things had never been properly resolved between us romantically. There's always been a lingering attraction." All of it is pouring out of her and it feels so good to finally get things off her chest. "Then a few weeks ago... things got weird." She stops, sudden;y scared of her friend's reaction.

"Weird?" Archie prompts.

Gillian closes her eyes, her face already hot leading up to her admission. "Well, we sort of, um... had phone sex." She winces as she opens her eyes again, but Archie remains looking at her without judgement."

"So?" she says.

Gillian blinks.

"You've been single for so long now, wrapping yourself up in work and the kids. Don't you think it's time to do something for yourself?"

Gillian's mouth drops open. This is not at all the reaction she had expected, too wrapped up in her guilt and humiliation and anger. "I guess... I just didn't think of it that way," she says softly.

Archie nods wisely. "So what happened next?" she asks.

Gillian winces again. "Well, I kind of screwed it up, I guess. I stopped talking to him. I ignored his calls and texts. I got scared. And then I called last week and we both said some really hurtful things. He called me a coward." She stared morosely back down to her drink. "I am. I'm a fucking coward."

"Does he make you happy?" Archie asks softly.

"Yeah," she replies. "He does."

"Are you still attracted to him?"

She doesn't have to think about that one. "Absolutely." She sighs again. "I think it's over though. I've been really cold. Not that he's given up, mind you," she adds.

Archie perks up. "Oh?"

"Well, he;s in London. He said he'll be here for a week and gave me the name of his hotel."

Archie smiles. "Then it's not over."

Gillian glances up at her.

Archie leans in closer. "What the fuck are you still doing here, Gillian?"

Her body freezes for a moment as the realisation dawns over her, and soon the adrenaline is coursing through her as she swipes her bag from the back of her chair, throws some notes onto the table, and stands up to peck Archie on the cheek in thanks.

"Be safe and have fun!" Archie calls after her as she weaves her way through the restaurant towards to exit. It's not fucking over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to Amy Elouise - I pushed to get this ready in time so I hope it's worth it! I love you all xxx

Everything seems like a colourful blur. Time seems to be flying. One minute she's hailing a taxi and the next she's swept through the hotel lobby and is in the elevator hurtling up to his floor. Time flies, that is, until she's knocked on his door and he opens, and then suddenly it stands still. Slowly, she rakes her eyes from his bare feet, up his long jean-covered legs, over the t-shirt that clings slightly to the toned muscles beneath it, and finally allows herself to look into his eyes. They bore back into hers with an intensity she's never felt before and a shiver runs down her spine.

"I didn't think you'd come." His gravelly voice seems to instinctually spark something within her and heat begins to pool in her abdomen.

She can't seem to move her eyes away from his. She seems to have lost control of her body altogether. "I'm here," she states simply.

He continues to look at her for a moment and then steps aside to let her in. Somehow she musters enough self-governance to walk into the suite and he swings the door shut behind her. He stalks past her, heading for the main living area. A huge window in front of the couch presents the cityscape made up of twinkling lights and it takes her breath away a little as she walks towards it to gaze out.

"Would you like a drink?" She turns to see him standing behind the couch, his hands braced against the backing. How is he able to appear so calm when her entire body is covered with goosebumps that have nothing to do with being cold?

She shakes her head. He pushes himself off the cushions and slowly walks around the piece of furniture until he's standing in front of her; not so close that she loses her inhibitions completely, but close enough that she can smell that he's recently showered.

"Why are you here?" he asks softly, no hint of malice in his voice.

She glances away from him, licking her lips, then meets his eyes again. She takes a small step closer until the points of her boots are a hairsbreadth from his naked toes. He's so tall and she has to rise even further up onto the balls of her feet than her heels have allotted to gently brush her lips against his, maintaining eye contact. He sighs a little and she tastes the hint of mint on his breath that makes her knees go a little week. Her eyelids drop shut and she places a soft, soft kiss on his plump lips. He knows exactly why she's here.

Her eyes drift open and slowly focus on his face; the slight stubble that speckles his jawline, the mole on his cheek that she remembers focusing on when he asked her to run lines with him in a lobby 25 years ago. Why have they wasted so much goddamn time?

She suddenly feels his hands cup her rear, pulling her hips forward to press against his own. A gush of air escapes her lungs in surprise. She can feel him hard against her hip bone and it thrills her down to the tips of her toes. His fingertips press into the swell of her ass bruisingly and his nose brushes lightly against her own. Their breaths mingle in the minsicule amount of space left between them. Heat is radiating off his body in waves but her goosebumps return full force. They've hardly spoken a word to one another, yet he seems to read her like an open book. 

Just as suddenly as he was against her, he's gone, tugging on her hand as he walks to the couch. He sits down, guiding her hips again until she's standing between his spread legs. His thumbs trace arcs along her hips bones over her dark jeans, but he could just as well be running them directly over her clit for all it's doing to her. 

He glances up at her and holds her gaze as he slowly nudges the edge of her shirt up and places a chaste kiss on the skin beneath her belly button. He does it again and again, just small, hot pecks, slowly making his way from left to right along the waistline of her pants. Once he's reached her right hip, he uses his nose to lift the hem of her shirt even further, continuing to let his mouth explore her.

She's never been so turned on by someone kissing her stomach. Absently, her hands raise to slide her fingers through his hair gently. She combs through the strands, relishing in the tenderness of the moment. Suddenly his tongue dips into the hollow of her naval and her fingers clench in his hair in surprise, a gasp slipping through her lips. She looks down and he's watching her, tracking her reactions like a hunter waiting for the kill. 

He sits back a little and brings a finger to circle the button on her jeans. 

"May I?" he asks. 

She's silent for a beat, drowning in the depths of his eyes, then shakily nods her head in permission. 

Deftly his fingers slip the button from its hole and slide the zipper down. He freezes for a moment and then moves forward to plant his nose against the edge of her underwear peeking out behind the undone fly. He simply rests his head there for a moment, then hooks his fingers on the material clinging to her hips and slowly pulls. 

She watches as his eyes drink her in, revealing a pair of nude lace briefs beneath the dark denim. The material bunches at her thighs but he doesn't stop, pushing it past her knees, then lifting each of her legs to pull of her boots and socks before pulling the jeans past her calves and, finally, off her legs completely. 

He flings the garment towards the window behind her and places a few more soft kisses on her lower abdomen and thighs. He reaches a hand up to cup the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down to meet his own. His tongue forces its way through her lips and into her mouth and she releases a breathy moan, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs, but all too quickly he's pushing her to stand up again. 

His fingers trace the patterns of lace barely covering what he covets most and she has to remind herself to breathe. Daringly, his index finger steals beneath the fabric at the top, dipping it down to expose her hairline and he leans in to brush his lips against the soft skin he finds there. 

But he needs more. Slowly, almost shyly, like a school boy about to get to third base for the first time (which is sort of how he feels if he's being honest, despite hiding it well), he slides his hand into her underwear until he's cupping her mound. He can already feel heat and wetness beneath his fingers and it makes him want to cry with joy that he's done this to her; for her. 

He risks a glance up to her and she's looking down at him, cheeks flushed and lips parted. He bites his lip and wiggles his fingers, slipping further between her hot folds and a little furrow appears between her brows. It's been a long time, but he remembers that frown and it definitely doesn't signal that he's doing something wrong. 

He allows his middle finger to stroke up and down her slit in the little space that he has to work with. He realizes that this won't be easy, but he can't bare to think about taking his hand away from her for long enough to remove her underwear. Still watching her, he slips his finger inside her tights walls and she moans softly. She'd almost forgotten how different, how _good_ , his fingers felt when she's become so used to her own touch.

He slowly draws it out and slips his index finger in alongside it when he thrusts back in. Using the tips of his fingers, he feels around until he encounters a spongy patch of flesh behind her naval and makes a "come hither" motion inside her. 

"Ah!" she gasps. "What are you-"

Her thought is cut off when he does it again, and he slowly develops a rhythm of slowly sliding his fingers out and then returning with force and reaching up to scrape that spot inside of her before retreating again. His thrusts are steady and deep and, god, it feels _sofuckinggood_. 

She's panting along with every retreat and return of his fingers, but she wants him deeper, so she raises a shaky leg to plant her knee on the cushion beside him, hands coming down to rest on the back of the couch. 

"Yeahhh," he breathes as she leans over him, her hair tickling the sides of his face as it forms a curtain around them. He can feel her breaths against his forehead and he's able to watch her more from this position. 

With his free hand, he grabs one of her hands behind him and clasps it in his own, dovetailing their fingers. He wants to make this good for her. He wants to make it fucking perfect. 

"Gillian," he whispers and she blearily looks down at him. "Squeeze my hand when it feels good." 

She nods and moves to lift her other knee onto the cushions so that she's effectively straddling him. He refocuses his efforts into his fingers moving within her, still following the pattern - thrust in, rub, slow retreat - but begins to pick up the pace. She's practically dripping now, wetness pooling in the palm of his hand as the heel rubs against her clit in the confined space. 

She begins bouncing on her knees in time with his thrusts, desperate to feel more, more, more. The elastic from her underwear is cutting into his wrist but he needs to do this for her; he needs to see her come. 

"Come on," he encourages, as much for himself as for her. "Come on."

Her eyes are clenched closed, mouth hanging open as pants escape it, brow deeply furrowed. Her whole body is poised on the precipice, bracing for release. 

He thrusts his fingers inside her again, ceasing the retreat and rubs furiously against the rough spot beneath his fingertips as his thumb reaches down to draw tight circles around her clit the way he knows she likes. 

"Ah!" she cries. "Oh, god!"

Her thighs are trembling from bouncing and suddenly her hand is squeezing his in a vice-like grip, mirroring her inner walls squeezing his fingers in waves as she comes. Her body stays tense for minutes before slowly relaxing, drained from her climax. 

She settles her ass on his thighs and he cups the back of her head tenderly as she nestles her nose into the crook of his neck, hot breath ghosting over his earlobe. He slips his hand out of her underwear, placing it on the soft skin of her thigh and tilts his head a little to place soothing kisses on her jaw and neck as she comes down. He can still feel her inner thigh muscles clenching and releasing with aftershocks. 

Eventually, she raises her head a little to return his kisses, tongues lazily twining with one another and hands clasped once again. The hand on her thigh reaches up to start undoing the buttons of her blouse until it hangs open at her sides. He pulls out of the kiss to admire her full breasts encased in more nude lace and the soft flatness of her abdomen. He doesn't know how it's possible to look better with age, but she pulls off the impossible. This is even better than his memories of her. 

She watches him watching her and takes a moment to dispel any doubts that linger in her mind, relishing in the gratitude she has for this moment. She reaches out for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it until he reaches his arms up and she lifts it up and over his head. Her hands come up, pressing against the firmness of his pecs, running her fingers along the ridges of his abs. He's been working out and she appreciates his tanned physique. 

Her hands drift up to cup either side of his neck and she leans in tantalizingly to run her tongue along his bottom lip. He tries to capture it but she pulls back just enough to stay out of reach. 

"Tease," he whispers, before darting his tongue out to touch hers in the open air. 

It's enough and she allows herself to be pulled back to his mouth. Her jaw cramps from being open so wide, but she wants to devour him just as much as she wants to be devoured. Their heads change angles a few times, but they can't separate for more than a second. He hooks his fingers into the collar of her shirt, slowly pulling the material down her arms. Once it's off, she brings one hand up to cup his stubbled jaw, holding his mouth to hers, while her other reaches between them to squeeze the bulge of his erection. He pulls away from her to groan. 

She leans towards his ear to whisper, "I want it," then nips his earlobe.

He allows her to sit back and unsnap his jeans before hearing the hearing sound of his zipper going down. Her index finger hooks into the edge of his boxers and she gives it a small pull before letting it snap back into place. He looks up at her and they share a small smile. 

Daringly, her hand worms it's way beneath the exposed material, and before he can catch his breath, her soft little hand is around him, drawing his shaft out. He tries to take deep breaths to calm his heart but she just feels so _good_. She leans forward again, bracing one hand against the back of the couch, and they share deep, hot kisses as her hand begins stroking him up and down. He's so hard but every time he tries to buck up into her fist, she simply holds still. She knows exactly how to work him to maximize his pleasure without making him go over the edge prematurely. He can hardly wait to be inside her. 

He needs a distraction, so he brings one hand up to tangle in her hair while they make out, and the other slithers up her front until he's cupping one of her luscious breasts in his palm. They're bigger than the last time he touched them, but two more kids would've changed her body. He can't wait to document these changes as he discovers them one by one. 

She gasps a little into his mouth as his thumb finds a nipple and strokes it, but her hand doesn't falter for a second. He's too wrapped up to figure out a clasp, so he simply slides his hand into the cup, seeking out soft flesh and bare skin. She sighs as he begins pinching and rubbing the same nipple between calloused fingers before switching to the other side for the same treatment. 

"Fuck," she whispers against his lips as he gives a particularly hard pinch,  and for some reason hearing her curse like that ratches his arousal up another ten notches. 

She reaches back to undo her bra, flinging it behind her and returns to his mouth, pressing her breasts against the heat of his bare chest. She's so fucking soft against him, and he simply runs his fingertips up and down the skin of her back, relishing in the feel of her. 

She pulls back after a bit and he chases her lips and teeth and that devilish tongue, but she moves to pull his pants down a little further on his hips and he knows, _he fucking knows_ , what's coming next. He can't wait one more second to be inside her. 

He pulls on her hips so that she's up on her knees, taking himself in hand while his fingers fumble to push her underwear to the side. She walks herself a little closer, breathing heavy, and then she lowers her ass back down as he guides himself into her wet heat. She makes a few shallow thrusts with her hips until he's completely embedded in her tight cavern and he bites his lip because his memory just doesn't hold up to what she actually feels like; how fucking amazing it feels to be inside her. She's tight and wet and his cock feels like it's on fire with the heat radiating from within her. 

Her brow is wrinkled again, but she keeps her eyes trained on his. His cock is making her feel so full that she's breathless. How did she ever stop herself from doing this? It's too good. They are too fucking good. 

She rests her forearms on the back of the couch for leverage and begins moving her hips. Slow ascent, squeeze, quick descent. She's a little unsteady (it's been a while since she's been with anyone, let alone him), but his hands on her hips help her to find her rhythm. Eventually he lets go, his hands wandering over her body; her breasts, her waist, her thighs, her ass. They're both breathing unevenly and occasionally she leans down to swipe her tongue against his or to lick the salt of his neck. 

His hands return to her hips, urging her to increase her pace until she's riding his cock so beautifully that he can't imagine anything more perfect. 

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, unable to tear his eyes away from where they're joined, watching her take him in again  and again and again  "Yeah."

She whimpers above him, head dropping forward to rest her forehead against his.

"David," she gasps.

He looks up at her, so close now, planting a few chaste kisses on those succulent lips. His hands slide forward and down to grasp the twin globes of her ass, supple beneath his fingers, forcing her to descended on him with a slap of skin on skin every time. He angles his hips so that he can thrust up against her in counterpoint, catching her clit with his pubic bone on every thrust.

She leans back, placing her hands on his knees behind her to increase the pressure on her clit and now he has a front row seat to her breasts as they bounce with each thrust of her hips. He bends down to capture a pert nipple in his mouth, sucking on the sweetness of her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries, hand threading once again through his hair to hold him in place against her breast, not that he thinks he can ever leave. She just tastes so fucking good. 

Her thighs start quivering again and he knows she's close, so he moves a hand around to start rubbing a rough fingertip over her swollen clit.

"Jesus!" she gasps. "Yeah! Right there! God!"

He growls against her breast, lifting his neck to suck at her throat as he feels her begin to tremble around him.

"I love fucking you, baby," he whispers into her ear, pushing her hair out of her flushed face. "You feel - Christ! You feel so fucking good."

Her mouth drops open as she pants, breathless, and he can feel her coming, milking his cock as her muscles contract around him. He can't help it. 

"Fuuuuuck!" he groans as with a flush of heat his orgasm ripples through him, pouring his life into her. His hips pump unevenly as he fills her, eyes closed and jaw clenched, until he's limp and lifeless against the cushions.

She folds forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her forehead on his collar bone as she recovers. One of his hands still rests on her ass while the other uses the last of his strength to run up and down her dewy back. He places a few kisses on her temple, smelling the intoxicating scent that clings to her hair. He's still drained, but he knows that he needs her again like he needs air. 

"You wanna shower?" he asks softly and she lifts her head, eyebrow raised. He simply smiles, flexing his hips gently and already feeling himself start to swell with arousal after being so recently sated. 

"Oh!" she gasps, feeling it too.

"I'm not done with you," he growls, pulling her in for another frantic clash of lips and tongues. 


	6. Chapter 6

He'd dragged her into the shower where he'd proceeded to wash her reverently from head to toe. They shared long kisses under the hot spray, breaking apart only to run their hands over one another's bodies until the anticipation became too great and they'd roughly dried off, only to tumble naked on to the bed.

Now he's between her legs, hands firmly gripping the underside of her thighs to keep them apart as he allows his tongue to run rampant over her nether lips. He carefully runs the tip in small circles around her clit and she gasps, bringing her hands up to grip the wooden slats of the headboard above her. Her stomach muscles clench and tremble as she tries to regulate her breathing, to little avail.

He goes back to sliding his tongue over, between, through her folds, darting into her tunnel occasionally, relishing in the taste of her after so many years without it. Sour like young cherries indeed. He feels one of her hands reach down to run through his hair and he moans deeply into her, but he soon realises that instead of holding him to her, she's pulling him away.

He raises his head, question perfectly framed on his face without speaking a word, but she just smiles and crooks a finger at him.

"Get up here." God, the rasp in her voice goes straight to his cock.

He slithers up her body, bracketing her head with his forearms. She tilts her chin up to kiss him deeply and he knows that she can taste herself on his tongue. It drives him crazy.

"I want you inside me when I come," she whispers, like it's a secret.

To her surprise , he gives her one more kiss before rolling off of her onto his side, pushing on her hip with one hand so that he's spooned up behind her. They've never done it like this, usually having to make do with cramped spaces that lacked beds. The anticipation sends another gush of arousal through her and she rubs her legs together to relieve the ache between them.

He grabs her top thigh, bending her leg so that her thigh lies perpendicular to the bottom one, and rubs a hand soothingly along the firm flesh before reaching down to take himself in hand, running the head of his erection along her slit. Slowly, he begins to slide into her heat and she turns her head back to offer him lazy kisses until he is fully sheathed in her warmth. He places a hand on her hip to hold her steady as he slowly slides out and returns, setting a sensual pace, the urgency from before now sated.

She places her hand over his on her hip, interlacing their fingers, and begins to tilt her pelvis back to meet his thrusts. She's so tight in this position and feeling the length of her pressed to his front is exquisite.

He moves their joined hands to press against her stomach, breathing roughly into her ear as he raises his head a little to look down at her. Her eyes are closed, relishing in the feel of him moving inside of her.

"Is it good?" he asks softly, more out of concern for her pleasure than for an ego boost.

"Yeah," she breathes. She whimpers as he hits that spot inside of her again. "So good."

He gives her hand a squeeze before untangling their fingers to softly grasp her breast.

"You're so beautiful, Gilly," he sighs. "Jesus, I can't stop touching you. You're so fucking soft."

She gasps as his words jolt straight to her clit. His fingers start strumming her nipple and she doesn't want it to end. No one is able to do to her what he can do with the barest of touches. She begins to purposely contract her inner muscles around him with each thrust and he moans gruffly against her shoulder. Her clit is practically buzzing so she slides her hand down to trace gentle circles around it.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Touch yourself. God, just like that."

She moans quietly and he dusts her shoulder with kisses as he continues to thrust steadily in and out of her wet heat. She removes her hand from between her legs, bending her elbow to cup the back of his head and bring his mouth back to hers. His hand leaves her breast in favour of taking over where she left off at her clit. He wants desperately to come inside her again, but he needs her to get there first. Watching her unravel is almost as satisfying as his own release. He needs it.

He pulls away from her lips with a soft pop, breathing deeply through his mouth and gazing down into her eyes as he jerks his hips more violently against her ass, still circling her clit with roughened fingertips. She's breathing heavily below him, little gasps and whimpers punctuating her breath. He hopes to god she's close.

"Yes, honey," he coaxes. "You feel so good. Are you gonna come for me, baby?"

She tilts her chin up to sip from his mouth and her thighs start going again on either side of his hand. He sends up a prayer of thanks.

"That's it," he murmurs against her lips. "Just like that."

He feels her inner walls clamp down around him as she sucks in a gasp of air. She tries instinctively to turn her head and bury her face in the pillow, but he pulls his hand away from her clit to hold her to him.

"Yeah. Yes, Gilly. Oh, baby, you feel so fucking good. You're so fucking gorgeous when you come. You're so sexy." He talks to her all the way through it until she relaxes in his arms, breath hitching as the aftershocks shoot through her.

He brings his hand away from her jaw to stroke up and down her thigh again as she catches her breath. He feels her squeeze around him he flexes instinctively inside her. 

"You didn't come?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. 

"I wanted to watch you."

She wriggles her hips a little until he slips out of her and rolls over to face him, bringing her palms up to rub circles over his scapula. Her breasts are pressed up against him and he's amazed once again at the softness of her. 

They kiss lazily for a few moments, tongues and lips dueling in a battle neither cares to win. Eventually, she starts to roll onto her back, her palms pressing into his shoulders to pull him over on top of her and spreading her bent legs to cradle his pelvis between her thighs. 

"Like this?" he asks and she nods. 

"You got to watch me so I get to watch you."

He chuckles and places a firm kiss on her lips. He slides gently into her, bracing his forearms on either side of her head but making sure the flesh of their abdomens stay connected. He wants to feel as much of her as he can. Her hands slide up and down the curve of his spine as he sets up a gentle rhythm. 

He sips from her lips, swallowing every moan and whimper that escapes them. He begins to pick up the pace and she loops a leg over his hip, digging her heel into the flesh of his ass to encourage him along. 

"Fuck," she whispers as he tilts his pelvis forward so that his pelvic bone rubs against her clit with every thrust. He still knows her body like the back of his hand, even after so many years, but the thought unnerves her so she pushes it out of her mind.

He's breathing hard above her. She licks her lips and he moans in the back of his throat. 

"I'm getting close," he breathes. He shakes his head with a smile. "You feel too good."

She smiles back up at him. "It's okay. Let go."

He sits up onto his haunches, wrapping his hands around her hips as he thrusts more forcefully into her, meeting her body in a series of wet slaps. She gasps for breath but he's unrelenting. It doesn't take long before his face forms a grimace. 

"Fuck," he spits. "Oh, fuck. Jesus."

His words dissolve into a fractured groan as he releases inside of her in hot spurts.  He folds forward where she expects him to collapse, but he catches himself on one forearm, the other hand snaking down to rub frantic circles around her clit. She cries out in surprise as another orgasm ripples through her and her hands clench his biceps as she shudders beneath him. 

Her legs feel boneless as she releases their hold around his hips and he lowers his head to rest against her breastbone. She musters enough energy to slide her arms up to cradle him to her, not ready to disconnect yet after the intensity of their coupling. 

They doze off like that, intertwined, for a few minutes, until she urges him awake so that she can go pee. She stumbles to the bathroom, legs still unsteady after using muscles that have been dormant for longer than she'd like to admit.

As she's washing her hands, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. There are smudges of mascara under her eyes and her hair holds none of the shape she'd painstakingly blow dried into it before meeting Archie. God, was that tonight still? It feels like another lifetime ago.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath. She's an almost-50-year-old mother of three. What the fuck is she doing? Then Archie's words come back to her. 

_Don't you think it's time to do something for yourself?_

Why then can she not shake the guilt that's beginning to gnaw at her gut?

A little anxious now, she grabs the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, covering herself before walking back to the bed. David's sitting up, lower half now covered by the sheets, scrolling through his Twitter feed. She sits down gingerly next to him, tucking her legs beneath herself, and he throws his phone onto the nightstand. He reaches an arm out to her in invitation, and after a beat she scooches closer to tuck herself into his side and rest her head on his shoulder. 

"You okay?" he asks softly.

She nods. It's easy to control her feelings from this position where he can't see her face.

"What are you thinking?"

She sighs. "If this was the right thing to do."

She feels him nod. "Feels pretty right to me."

He reaches for one of her hands, playing with her fingers that look so small between his own.

"I'm guessing the 'right' feeling isn't coming as easily to you, though."

"That's astute," she mumbles, tilting her head to glance up at him.

He meets her eye and smiles, waiting for her to continue.

"I guess it's a little to do with how this went before. I've always sort of known there was something left here but I'm also very different from who I was 20 years ago. We both are. I'm really just trying to figure out if this was a one time thing, or if this going to become a pattern, and if it does, will it be a good one. I don't know."

"Well," he starts. "That's up to us. Do you want this to be a one time thing?"

"I'm not sure it can be."

"That's not what I asked. Do you want to do this again?"

"The flying to another country and meeting at a hotel part or the sex part?"

He chuckles. "Let's stick with the sex part for now."

She takes a moment to think about it before speaking. "I think my body will always be attracted to your body. I can't imagine myself not wanting you, even more so knowing how well we work together."

"I'll take that as a yes to wanting more sex."

"But then there are the logistics. Case in point, we don't live in the same country."

He nudges her. "We're in the same country right now."

She rolls her eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yes, but I think we should enjoy the time we've created for now. We can take the rest as it comes."

"So, are we just fucking? Will there be dates? I don't know how to play it."

He shrugs. "We can take the rest as it comes," he repeats.

Strangely, she finds herself okay with this laissez-faire attitude and nods in agreement. If there's nothing to plan and think about, then she can't over analyse it. Right? Her life can continue as it was, but now with acknowledgement of and indulgence in the grey area that exists between her and David.

"So..." he says. "At the risk of sounding over eager, when can I see you again?"

She gets up, heading to the living are to collect her clothes as she calls back, "Is tomorrow too soon?"

He laughs. "Not at all."

She begins to dress herself and he pouts. 

"No sleepover?"

She tucks her blouse into her pants and leans over to kiss him. "Another time. I have to ration my time with you. You're a bad influence."

"Takes one to know one," he shouts as she leaves again to put on her boots.

He scrambles to pull his boxers on before heading over to meet her by the door. 

"Tomorrow?" he asks softly, almost scared she's changed her mind in the past few minutes. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"Tomorrow," she smirks. "Come to my house. 7pm."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispers, bending to plant one final kiss on her lips before she's gone, a trail of perfume and sex and dirty laughter in her wake

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed - feedback is everything to me! Oh, I'm also on Twitter now. Follow me for updates and general silliness @itsmehelem.


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